


Finch

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Vignette, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-19 16:20:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18138080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: King Noctis admires his assistant’s wings.





	Finch

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: AU I guess where Noctis lived but Ignis is still scarred and y’all aren’t sick of wing fics yet?
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

After a long day of running an entire kingdom, all Noctis wants to do is sink into a warm bath and sleep. His quarters are two floors above his office, but he still heads in the opposite direction of the elevator—he doesn’t want to do those things alone. His feet carry his tired body on muscle memory alone, weaving down the long corridor to his assistant’s office. He doesn’t even bother to knock, just lets himself in—he is the king, after all. And he doesn’t have to announce himself, because he’s yawning as soon as he’s inside, and his voice probably gives him away.

Ignis is hard at work, of course, because Ignis is _always_ hard at work. He never stopped, even during the many years Noctis spent dicking around. He looks up as Noctis wanders past his desk, headed for the couch. Noctis doesn’t miss the fond smile that flitters over Ignis’ pink lips as Noctis collapses onto the cushions. 

“I’m afraid I still have some work to do,” Ignis tells him. It doesn’t matter that the sun’s already set and most of the Citadel’s staff has gone home—Ignis’ fingers are still busy across his desk, skimming the computerized Braille that all official reports are now translated into. The scars that trace Ignis’ handsome form haven’t at all slowed his work ethic, nor have they marred his beauty. He’s still as crisply dressed as he he’s always been. His old coeurl-patterned purple button-up is starting to fade, but Noctis won’t ever say that out loud, because it’s one of his favourite things to see on Ignis. Then again, Noctis likes most everything on Ignis. And off him. He doesn’t have his glasses on at the moment, but the tinted lenses are sitting on his desk. His hair’s neatly brushed back, a few strands out of place now that the day’s nearly over. His brown wings are spread out behind his chair, smaller than Noctis’ grand black ones but still lithe and elegant, as handsome as the rest of him. Only a few feathers are missing after their harrowing adventure. Sometimes Noctis expects to see the ends already greying with how hard Ignis works, but that hasn’t happened yet.

For a few minutes, Noctis just watches his lovely attendant work, enjoying every line and muscle that Ignis draws. When it becomes too hard to watch without _touching_ , Noctis orders, “Ignis.”

His tone is enough. Ignis sets down his pen without needing further instructions. His other hand stills across the letter he’d been reading. Noctis bids, “Come here.”

Ignis’ head turns in the direction of the sound. A moment’s hesitation, and then his chair scrapes back. Noctis knows that Ignis has his office memorized and finding Noctis won’t be difficult, but Noctis still can’t resist calling out to his perfect angel. He coos, “Come on, Specs. Follow my voice.”

In no time at all, Ignis is in his arms. A hand lands on his shoulder, testing where he is, another reaching out to find his face—Noctis collects that hand and brings it to his cheek. Ignis smiles as he sinks forward, climbing into Noctis’ lap, and Noctis takes care in arranging him to fit. When Ignis is settled, his fingers trail back into Noctis’ hair, and he leans in to connect their mouths. Noctis enjoys the kiss for what it is, though he’s disappointed when Ignis pulls away too soon. 

He can tell that Ignis is tired too. With enough energy left, Ignis would have entertained him for a moment, then swiftly returned to work, but now Ignis folds against him and rests on his shoulder, letting Noctis languidly stroke and touch him. Touching Ignis is Noctis’ absolute favourite pastime. It’s one of the few things worth delaying sleep for. He threads his fingers through Ignis’ soft hair and brushes it back, his other hand roaming the sculpted plane of Ignis’ spine. When his fingers reach the feathered arc of his wings, Noctis strays there instead. He diverts both hands to Ignis’ wings, petting down the velvety feathers and brushing any stray ones back into place. Ignis’ wings twitch under the attention, then spread wider, giving Noctis more room to work. 

Grooming his lover’s wings is something Noctis has always enjoyed. When they were younger, it was a lazy activity to fill his afterglow. When they were on the road, it was a familiar ritual to give some sense of normalcy. Now it’s something Noctis cherishes more than ever: he appreciates Ignis so much that he doesn’t know how to express it all. Doting on Ignis’ most dazzling feature is just one small way to show how much he cares.

“I’m sorry,” Ignis murmurs, letting out a tired sigh against Noctis’ throat. “I’m sure they’re no longer as pristine as I would like to keep them, or as my king deserves. I try to rub them down before I work, but without being able to _see_ them...”

“It doesn’t matter,” Noctis cuts in. He nudge’s Ignis’ face, and Ignis lifts off his shoulder, which makes it easier for Noctis to give him a firm but fleeting kiss. Then Noctis presses their foreheads together and promises, “I think you’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. ...But I know you like to be polished, so I’ll keep them in good shape for you.”

Ignis looks particularly good when he’s smiling. He wryly counters, “ _I_ am the one that is supposed to serve _you._ ”

“You do. ...You provide me with such pretty things... and I love to play with them.” He emphasizes his point by tracing the arc of the left one, fingers playfully ruffling through the feathers near the bottom. Ignis twitches like he’s been tickled, and Noctis can’t help but press another kiss against his cheek. Noctis keeps one hand on Ignis’ wing as the other circles Ignis’ waist, drawing Ignis tightly against him. He purrs over Ignis’ lips, “I’m _so_ lucky.”

Ignis _moans_. Noctis knows he thinks he’s the lucky one, because he’s whispered it in bed on reverent nights when the two of them have run each other ragged and stripped down to raw emotions. Ignis nuzzles his face into Noctis as Noctis bucks their hips together, ready to get started. He _loves_ Ignis so much that he can’t contain it. 

He wraps his own enormous wings around the two of them, blocking out the rest of the world. He tells Ignis, “Your work is over for the day.” 

Ignis nods and kisses him; their night properly begins.


End file.
